Gemotions

Mr. Davies was grading papers, the familiar scent of old paper and ink a comfort, when a package landed on his desk. No return address. He hadn't taught at the high school for a decade; the students were all a blur of faces now. A coldness settled in his chest.

He tore open the brown paper. Inside, nestled in shredded newspaper, was a framed photograph. It was a picture of him, taken from across the schoolyard, years ago. He was laughing, a student on his arm.

He squinted, trying to make out the face of the student. It was… Kevin, yes, Kevin who had been so quiet, so watchful. His breath hitched in his throat. He ran a hand over his face. The photograph was too clear, too detailed.

He turned the photograph over. On the back, in an elegant hand, a single word was written: "Remember."